


Marriage Test

by modbelle



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU is another place the head goes, Cameos, F/M, Jaime is a Troll Lion, On LJ first and looking for a vacation home, Tommen + Kittens steals hearts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modbelle/pseuds/modbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: AU Gendry is the legitimate son of King Robert and Cersei. When court comes to Winterfell, Robert engages his son to Arya because the pair reminds him so much of a younger version of him and Lyanna. But Arya is determined to hate the situation ... at least at first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marriage Test

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing is implied right? First time posting fic here, so double checking myself- all characters belong to George R.R. Martin, producers, and HBO; don't sue. Originally posted on LJ.

Robert Baratheon would never win father of the year. He rather drink alcohol than solve problems or pay attention to his own children. Gendry knew this, accepted it like he did much harsh realities. His eyes didn’t seek out Robert from time to time, hopeful and huge…and disappointed, always disappointed. Those were the times, watching Tommen and Myrcella faces fall, he would feel his fingers clench tight in a fist and took an effort uncurling them rather than strike. Strangely enough, his mother, Cersei, showed him the most love during these times, brushing his mop with a pinched smile. “You may have the stag’s looks, but your heart is a lion,” she would tell him afterwards, her eyes fierce, proud, and greedy. So Gendry never expected his father ever doing something nice for him, especially not getting him what he wanted most, Arya Stark. The night in King’s Landing was very likely the happiest day of his life even if everyone including Arya’s father seemed in shock by his father’s announcement of their betrothal. Mother ordered more wine while cursing ghosts and savages, and Gendry thanked his father for the real first time in his life. His father’s laughter boomed out mirthless, “Don’t thank me yet. It’s up to you to keep her, and that’s the devil of it all.” That was the cruel joke. Walking Arya around the godswood later that night, she told him in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want to marry him. While some girls may play hard to get, Gendry was pretty sure punching you in the arm and calling you stupid wasn’t part of it. He vowed once she got to know him better she would want him too. Quirking an eyebrow, she said skeptically, “we’ll see about that.”

_I am the son of Atlas, my shoulders are meant to hold up the weight of the heavens._

The next day, Gendry received a note from Arya instructing him to meet her outside the kitchen. When he arrived, he noticed bag upon bag of potatoes. “Carry as many as you can at a time,” Arya commanded. With five on each arm, Gendry knew he made an impressive sight. Baratheons on a whole were stronger than most, even as a child he could out lift adult men. Gazing at his muscles, Arya nodded her head in approval. This was going to be easier than Gendry originally thought.

_How can I crush a girl so beautiful, quick, and sharp, when she pricks with her needle and I do bleed?_

When Arya originally told Gendry she wanted to sword fight, he laughed. He wasn’t surprised she wanted to fight; she was a wild thing for sure. During their journey from Winterfell to King’s Landing, he saw her stick in hand fighting some boy as he stood there watching, he wished Sansa wasn’t impatient to continue on with their walk. But the thing remained, he never contemplated fighting Arya himself, she was so small. He didn’t want to hurt her. Watching her weave in between his hacking strikes with the sword, he realizes maybe he should have gone with the warhammer instead of choosing the sword for her safety. Of course moments later, staring up at her sword, her eyes glittering, he’s pretty sure he shouldn’t have told her that he would crush her. “You are a dead boy,” Arya warned him laying her blade on his heart.

_My feet are planted; would that I could, I would chase you, but here I must remain and hope you will return._

He’s lost her. Circling round and round, he can’t seem to locate even which direction her horse went in. One moment, they were racing horses, and the next she was so far away, he lost sight of her direction. Feeling he once again failed some test, he made his way to the end marker, a piece of ribbon hanging down from a single branch. He remembered her saying, pulling her ribbon loose from her one braid and tying it to the tree, “This is the only good use for the stupid string no matter what Septa Mordane says. Anyone asks it got lost.” Now, it seemed he lost Arya. She should have been waiting here by the time he arrived. Some part of him wondered if instead she took off all the way to Winterfell. Really he wouldn’t put past her some grand escape. Right now she could be racing across the country on horseback, and changing her identity, all so she didn’t have to marry the likes of him. The sound of hooves approaching was a relief, the man would help him start a search party…or not, since Arya rode the horse. “Took you long enough, picked some apples while I waited,” recounted Arya.

“Here I thought you ran all the way back to Winterfell.”

Throwing an apple at his head, she growled, “I am no coward. Besides, I would never abandon my father.”

_Let all the jokester gods enjoy their mirth so long as they with a thousand envious eyes don’t take what is not yet mine._

This is a punishment, Gendry was sure. Humiliation and a tedious, impossible chore Arya specifically designed for his previous failings. Sure, he made blunders either out of concern for her wellbeing or anger from thinking she wants to leave him. But _chasing_ cats? What a cruel and unusual punishment. “I want you to bring me at least ten cats before dinner, the more the better,” she directed him. When he showed up an half an hour later with ten cats she seemed impressed until she found out he bought them. “You are supposed to catch the cats,” she hissed, “quick as a snake, quiet as a shadow.” Grabbing the cages, Arya instructed, “I’m going to let these cats loose around the castle. Try again, and this time catch them yourself and bring them to my dancing studio before dinner.” So he spent the day chasing after bloody cats while his servants, guards, and noblemen not so discretely watched him, and their laughter echoed behind his back. At least Tommen thought his brother was cool and fun, begging to help him chase cats too. “Look at all the kittens,” Tommen whispered awestruck and wistful. While he knew technically Arya wanted the cats caught alone, he didn’t think she would care if Tommen carried and worked the cages. Even if she did, it was worth seeing Tommen amused at their great adventure Gendry secretly wished was over. A particularly difficult golden cat, he cornered more than once, before it leapt clawing at his arms as it went. Putting on more padding, he managed once to actually secure the cats paws in his arms, and while trying to maneuver it into the cage, the cat sunk his teeth into his neck. Clearly the cat hated him, and the feeling was more than mutual. After two hours of chasing one blonde hellcat, almost succeeding five times, he was determined the bloodthirsty feline would be his, no matter how deep it sunk its vicious claws or fangs into his body. Near out of breathe, he ran across the corridors outside his father’s department, and stopped still in his tracks. There stood the hellcat, rubbing up against Uncle Jaime’s legs and playfully swatting her tail at him. Looking sweet and friendly, the cat continued its charade. Worst part, Arya came down the hallway. Reaching down, Jaime picked the cat, which started purring, “Awww, now I’ve heard mutterings from everyone this is what you are after,” said Jaime holding the cat close.

Arya, damn her, appeared impressed with Jaime. “How did you get the kitten to come to you?” she asked Jaime.

“What can I say? I have a way with golden pussies,” Jaime mock whispered, handing over the she-devil to Arya. The cat, okay maybe it really was a kitten, nuzzled its head against her breasts, and he swore the feline’s green eyes mocked him as well.

Scrunching up her nose like she was trying to figure something out, Arya asked, “Does it only work on golden ones?”

Uncle Jaime’s mouth curled into a smirk and for once he thought he heard genuine amusement in his uncle’s voice when he answered, “I’ve only ever tried it with the golden pussies, but I might be persuaded to try another kind one of these days.”

“Let me know if you do,” Arya responded earnestly.

“Trust me, you’ll be the first to know,” said Uncle Jaime and Gendry knew a leer when he saw one.

Interrupting, Gendry told Arya, “I need to get back to my cat chasing, if milady will excuse me.” He smiled at Arya’s glare, he realized early on, she hated being called that, and right now he wished her to be every bit as aggravated as him.

“Can I, can I, pet her first?” asked Tommen timidly looking at Arya. Tommen squealed with delight as Arya shifted the kitten and placed it into his arms. Snuggling the kitten tight to his chest, Tommen appeared the picture of happiness and content. It’s not fair he should like Arya even more in that moment, when even his uncle seems more likely to gain her affections while he’s running around like an idiot.

Gendry didn’t have the heart to take the kitten away from Tommen. “Listen, little brother, she seems to like you. Why don’t you keep this one? I have plenty other cats to chase,” Gendry told Tommen, patting him on the head. Tommen’s eyes became big and huge like he gave him the world instead of letting him keep one spiteful kitten. How his father could ever deny Tommen anything, or his mother prefer Joffrey, Gendry would never know. Gendry felt Arya’s gaze on him but he refused to meet it. Let her think what she will.

So she turns to Tommen, mischief lighting her face, and she’s so beautiful it hurts. “Let’s sneak down to the kitchen and the stables and see about getting some milk and supplies for the kitten. They’ll probably be relieved it’s not for Nymeria,” Arya whispered conspiratorially with Tommen. Gendry could feel something gnawing unpleasantly at his insides.

“Yay!” Tommen’s face fell, “I promised to help Gendry with the cages.”

“Run along. I expect you to take good care of the kitten,” Gendry assured him. Tommen’s smile lit up once more.

“You can come as well. As long as a man comes sneakily and blends into shadows, not like a knight escort,” Arya told Jaime seriously. His uncle acts younger and more cat-like than ever before, now that Gendry desperately wishes him an old man.

“Here I heard all the girls wanted knights. Will a lion suffice? Besides, I am indispensible, I happen to know where they lock up the good stuff,” responded Jaime. But Gendry can’t shake the feeling that while his uncle would pretend he didn’t care if the invitation were revoked, he would. For some inane reason Uncle Jaime wanted to go on some childish make believe adventure. No one had to steal supplies for the hell-kitten, just go down and ask or easier yet, tell a servant what they needed. No, it was some unneeded adventure, even Uncle Jaime who never got excited, seem pleased to go on. Insisting his uncle with his perfect golden hair was too old to join wouldn’t get him anywhere, except making people wrongly suspect him jealous.

So off Gendry went, chasing down more cats until dinner time arrived. Still he was late arriving to what Arya called a dancing studio and seeing as a man strike her with a wooden sword, he sincerely doubted it actually was one. She stopped fighting when she saw him enter, and demanded to see her stupid, precious cats, of which Gendry brought two. “Oh,” she said, and even an admonishment would have been better than Arya unable to form words over his failure. He left quickly with a terse “milady” for his suffering and heartache. Still, after exiting the room, he pushed himself against a nearby wall to hear what, if anything, Arya would say about his failure. “Look with your eyes, his body it is not built for speed; listen with your ears, he makes noise,” the foreign man informed Arya, “he is made for the dance of Westeros, just so. Let him dance his dance or set a man free.” Changing his mind, Gendry decided to leave before he could ever hear her response.

_What fool was I to think you can win something wild and free; it comes of its own will or not at all, and still I know not why you came._

Polishing his bull helmet, Gendry barely glances at Arya the next day when she came and sat down next to him. “That’s a very nice helmet,” she complimented him, her voice is softer than normal, and it unnerves him. Grunting his reply, Gendry continued making the bull helmet shine. Her fingers trail the sharp end of one of the horns, and he swats it away. “Can you show me the blacksmith who made it?” Arya asked. He really hates this new soft tone; can’t she just say what she wants to say like she normally does, instead of prepping him for the worst? “You are looking at him,” dismissed Gendry.

“Show me,” Arya insisted. Her tiny hand is on his bicep, squeezing gently, and that same unsuspecting hand can easily rip his heart out.

“Suit yourself,” Gendry said heading towards the forge without checking whether or not she’s following him. He could really use hitting something, he assures himself, and it has nothing to do with her wanting him too. He’s through playing these games he’ll only lose. Usually he doesn’t mind sharing the forge, and feels guilty about taking over one, but today he uses the full extent of his princely powers and orders the blacksmith out of his own forge. He doesn’t want any witnesses really, and he already has to ignore the girl who seems to have followed him after all. Taking off his shirt like he usually does with smithing, he starts pounding away at the steel, wondering whether it will even be useable after he’s done getting his frustration out. Steel singing and the heat coming from the forge, he feels calmer than he has in weeks. When he puts the hammer down, he lets Arya know he is done. It’s the first time he’s looked at her properly today, and her bitten lips and shiny eyes make him think today is the day she breaks it to him that she will never love him, never willingly consent to the marriage. Determined, he stands his ground when she walks over to him. Her hands stroke his chest, wind around his neck, and pulling herself up onto her tippie-toes she presses her mouth to his. It’s not the best kiss he’s ever had she lacks experience though defiantly not enthusiasm, but it’s the kiss that’s worth the most. “If I agree to marry you, will you wear the bull helmet on our wedding night?” Arya asked him in-his-very-favorite-voice.

Gendry nodded, “I’ll even make your wedding gift. Does this mean you agree?”

“I’ll make you a lousy queen. You would be better off with Sansa, you know. But I will marry you” Arya said tugging his head back down into another kiss.

_You laugh, “I loved your strong arm to be sure, but your strong heart recalled the boy I loved best, and found his goodness in your loving touch, and twined our fingers forevermore."_


End file.
